A Fair Cop
by bardvahalla
Summary: Tritter and House meet again, using Cameron's affection as a weapon. Until she decides to give them both a taste of their own medicine. Final. Complete. AU.
1. Chapter 1

A Fair Cop

By Bardvahalla '06

MICHAEL TRITTER

Officer Michael Tritter knew a lot of old and dirty tricks. One might even call his collection of such tactics a bit of a hobbyhorse. Such knowledge came in handy when the more conventional system of justice failed as it so often did.

Tritter also did his research. He looked for the Achilles heel in certain special cases. The weak spot. The button to press to achieve the maximum humiliation. For Dr. Gregory House, Michael realized, it would be the ego.

Being a cop meant he frequented hospitals. The ER nurses knew him well. The paramedics and the coroners were not unfamiliar with him or his methods. He knew people who knew about House. House's habits. The gossip. The rumors. The inside dope on his drug habit, his genius, his failings and a vast plethora of long remembered sins, slights and slurs.

There was almost too much material to work with.

But he was a fair cop. He'd given Dr. House the chance to apologize. House hadn't, so Michael busted him for possession. The Judge threw it out with a mere warning given House's evidence of previous prescriptions, his obvious injury and a team of well regarded doctors testifying on his behalf.

Dr. Wilson presented copies of House's medical past and a current prescription. Dr. Cuddy extolled House's virtues as a diagnostician, citing case after case ad nauseum.

Michael Tritter noted each subtle nuance and filed it accordingly. Cuddy and Wilson were angry and embarrassed. In court only to save their own reputations. They would put pressure on House for him.

House's smug smile after the verdict only amused Tritter. The narcotics charge wouldn't stick and Tritter had known it. But House, if he was half as smart as his friends made him out to be, should have sincerely apologized to him after the hearing. House understood that Tritter wouldn't just drop it unless he did. That was the point.

Days after the hearing, Tritter mentally sifted through scenarios, discarding each one. He could ruin the motorcycle, but House would only replace it. He could undermine House's career, but not without other doctors getting ruined in the process.

It was all so unnecessary. All he wanted from House was a simple apology. A little humble pie never tasted as bad as some insisted it did. Sadly, it seemed Dr. House was going to turn out to be the sort who required the pie hit him full in the face.

What did House have - or want so much – that he would get down on his knees for and beg forgiveness from Tritter rather than risk losing it?

A Princeton Plainsboro ER nurse told him a story and gave him a name…

DR. ALISON CAMERON

It was days like these Cameron wondered why House had begged her to come back. He was being even more insufferable than usual. Once home she showered under a blast of steaming water in a vain attempt to rinse off his cruel remarks, his vile reasoning and his brutal habit of running roughshod over a patient's wishes.

If only he wasn't right so much of the damned time. She put the dryer down and brushed out her hair. The bangs were getting too long, she thought and made a mental note to get them cut. But it was her eyes that bothered her the most. They were getting cold and hard. Like House's eyes – icy blue and freezing everyone out.

The line between love and hate is a very thin one, she reflected. She been back and forth over that line too many times. Hating someone was easier but far more exhausting. She'd decided to tough it out, learn all she could and then go establish a practice as far from House as she could manage.

She set the brush back on the vanity. The next day was her day off. Sleeping in would be bliss, but she was still too riled up to rest. Cameron pulled out a make-up case and began dusting deep golden eyeshadow.

Tonight she wanted to get out, have a bit of fun. Maybe something more… like –

TRITTER

He followed her to the bookstore where She purchased a book on decorating and sat in the café area leafing through it. More subtle than trolling a bar, Tritter thought as he purchased the latest true crime compilation by Max Haines. He strolled to the café and ordered an Earl Grey tea. He sat nearby, sipped and read for a good quarter hour, glancing at the darkened window once in a while to watch her watch him. She recognized him, of course. She'd been present at the hearing although she'd not been one of House's defenders. Interesting, he thought, since his sources revealed she'd once been quite enamored of House. Still, he reflected, the line between love and hate is thin.

He eventually got up, reached into his pocket for his car keys. He positioned the heavy silver dollar coin carefully between two fingers and deliberately dropped it. The coin bounced, rolled and came to rest at her feet. Tritter walked over, picked it up and looked up at her. He allowed his eyes to flash a glimmer of recognition, then smiled at

CAMERON

The coin was rare. A good luck charm told her and she laughed. He didn't seem the superstitious type. The perfume of his Earl Grey tea surprised her as well. He seemed so very intense at the hearing - the sort that drank bourbon or black coffee.

What also surprised her was how easily Tritter made her laugh. He knew a million stories, all gleaned from years on the force. Inevitably, she brought up House's name.

"He thinks you're out to get him,"

TRITTER

He shrugged amiably "I'm not. Just want to make him think twice before he pulls that sort of stunt again. His type usually ends up killing someone unless my type does something."

"And what is your type?"

It was a loaded question and Tritter knew better than to play macho with her. She wouldn't be impressed. "I'm a rubber mallet. I make a bit of noise but I don't leave marks." He glanced up to gauge the reaction. She wasn't quite buying it.

"Hmmm."

"I went too far, I know." Tritter added with a sigh. "But a few years ago I lost someone I really cared about. Her doctor didn't take her complaints seriously enough. A simple test might have saved her life if he had."

Her expression softened. "I'm so sorry."

"Medical hubris is a bit of a sore point with me, I suppose." He knew he was almost there. "Mind you, House was right about the gum. As soon as I stopped chewing it my little problem disappeared."

She tensed slightly. "House has a very annoying habit of being right."

He had her now. "Look, let not talk about –"

HOUSE

Something was up with Cameron. She was too relaxed, too ready with a dazzling come back. It was really starting to annoy him. He liked her better when she was tense and insanely sexually frustrated. So easy to make her lose her cool.

He wondered what sort lame ass she was seeing. He inwardly smirked – and hoped she'd bring the guy by so he could get a few digs in. Anything to distract him from the endless lectures from Wilson about his Vicodin intact and Cuddy's threats to send him to sensitivity training.

He limped into the lobby on the way to his motorcycle. His Vicodin was now carefully secreted in a baggie in his helmet lining. A valid prescription sat snug in his pocket, just in case. He didn't expect Tritter to give up, but he'd have to do way better than busting him for speeding and possession to pry a heartfelt apology from his lips.

He spotted Cameron lingering by the entrance. As he passed he noted the scent of expensive perfume, the saucy leather pumps. Her date was picking her up?

"You're not going to wear that, are you?" he gestured curtly at her shoes. "Fetish heels are so last year."

The remark glanced off her with nary a twitch. A car pulled up. House glanced at the driver and did a double take.

TRITTER

He didn't have to hear what House said. His expression said it all. Disbelief. Veiled outrage. A sweet - sweet moment of slack-jawed vulnerability.

She didn't bring up House's name. He didn't either. As the evening passed he understood she was a victim of House too. Manipulated to the point of losing her own moral compass. She needed to be cleansed of his influence. He knew a cure for that.

"There's something I want to tell you –"

ALISON

The kiss was unexpected, and unexpectedly welcome. Gentle with an undercurrent of raw need that both excited and scared her.

She stroked his lips. "I don't even know your first name."

"It's –"

MICHAEL

The window was open ever so slightly. Tritter could hear the purr of a motorcycle outside. He smiled and began to do one of the things he did best. Soon he heard a different purring inside his -

HOUSE

She was moaning. Calling his name. Begging him for it.

House listened for a moment and the begging stopped. The moaning continued. Hers. His. The bed squeaked rhythmically.

He'd been right about the gum, obviously. A flash of smugness registered and just as quickly disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

**A Fair Cop**

Bardvahalla

Officer Michael Tritter understood the psychology of bullies. They were often bullied themselves as kids. Usually by a father or a brother. Intimidation was learned behavior. Logically then, such behavior could be unlearned.

He knew most bullies had a pretty wide streak of cowardice when they met up with someone stronger and most vicious than themselves.

Another thing that Officer Michael Tritter learned, after years as an undercover narc - inflict pain to break the heart - but to make your point stick ... take away the money.

He flipped through the file and dutifully noted who put up House's bail.

DR. JAMES WILSON

It took Wilson a while to pry the check out of House's hand. $15,000. He studied the amount carefully and then handed it back to House. "Checks work better if they've been signed, House."

House feinted embarrassment as he pulled a gold pen from Wilson's coat pocket and dutifully signed. "Sorry. Force of habit." He thrust the check back at Wilson, a smarmy smile on his stubbled face. Wilson took it and put out his hand again.

"And my pen?"

House removed it from his pocket. "Oops."

Wilson's eyes narrowed. "You owe me a lot more than 15 grand without interest, House. You owe me an explanation."

"For what?" House started to lurch down the hall. Wilson strode angrily alongside him, unwilling to let the issue rest this time. "You don't have a mortgage, any ex-wives to support or any kids… that I know of. So where the hell is all the money you should have?" Wilson figured House had to be taking home anywhere from 13 –15 G's a month, even with gambling losses.

House stopped and turned suddenly into the men's room. Wilson watched as House glanced under the stall doors until he was certain that no feet were visible.

"My money, or lack thereof, is none of your business." House positioned himself in front of a urinal, unzipped and aimed.

"It became my business -" Wilson snapped. " - when you forged my name to get 600 Vicodin." This time, House had gone too far. He wouldn't let the matter drop. Not this time. "I spent two days learning to forge my own damn signature to save your neck. Now you owe me, dammit! Why?"

"Fine," House dripped, dipped and zipped. "I made some bad investments. Remember Nortel and Enron? Seemed like great ideas at the time. Some might call it gambling. I called it investing in the economy

"Is that why you had 600 vicodin? Were you selling pills to make up the difference?"

"I'm not trafficking," House bristled.

Wilson threw up his hands. "So you're just an addict, right?"

House limped to the sink and began to wash his hands. "This cop is out to get me. He's even dating Cameron to learn some dirt."

Cameron? Wilson blinked and the implications hit him. "And she's got plenty of dirt. What if –"

"Don't worry." House wiped his hands on Wilson's freshly cleaned, white jacket. "I know a big fat dirty secret about her too. She won't squeal."

Brushing his coat flat, Wilson followed House out of the men's room. Cameron? The cop was seeing -

CAMERON

Chase was being insufferable again, a self-righteous smirk marring his lovely face.

"Just shut the hell up." Cameron said amiably as she poured hot water over a bag of Earl Gray. The perfume wafted around her. Memories stirred. Mmmmmm.

"Look, I'm not into that sort of thing anymore. So, you're welcome to them. That's all I'm saying."

"I said 'Shut up', Chase."

Foreman giggled. A most unpleasant sound.

"You shut up too, Foreman."

"Then you better get used to wearing long sleeves in summer," Foreman hid his grin behind a file. "And don't think House won't notice. If we noticed, he'll notice. I think you should take Chase up on his offer."

Cameron flushed as she glanced down at the marks the metal cuffs left on her wrists. She pulled her sleeves down and picked her tea up. It was a game they played at her suggestion. A game Tritter obviously had played before… and one he was very, very good at.

_"You have the right to remain silent…"_

_But she didn't._

_"Anything you do will held against you..._

_and me. And you..."_

And that very interesting frisking! Oh yes… she wanted to play that game again.

In her reverie, the mug listed and tea dripped on her shoe. Blushing, she wiped up the tea and then glanced at Chase. A brief flicker of complete understanding passed between them. It was enough.

Besides, padded cuffs would be more sensible.

"Fine! Bring them! But in a plain brown bag if you don't mind."

As Foreman and Chase howled with laughter, the door swung open. It was

HOUSE

She was blushing for some reason, and yet obviously smug. Not a good sign for him. And why the hell was she wearing that shirt? It was so warm out. Immediately he noticed the red marks on her wrists under cuffs.

_Son of a b-!_

She dropped by later to file some report. He watched his soap in silence and finally broke it as she turned to go.

"What do you see in him? The guy's an arrogant, pushy, manipulative pig."

"So are you."

_Touché._ "He's only doing you to find out about me."

House pulled out a glass vial from his pocket and toyed with it. Basic illusions. He made it disappear, then reappear. He flipped it end over end with the fingers on one hand. The pale yellow fluid danced within as he did so.

Cameron didn't flinch. "He never talks about you, actually."

"He will." House held the glass vial up to the light and made a show of inspecting it. "He's looking for a charge he can make stick. Something big. Like, I dunno… murder?" He looked up to gauge her reaction.

Cameron's brows furrowed. Damn. He would have to be even less subtle.

"Maybe he heard a rumor." House stopped playing with the vial and held it out to her. "Technically, you're in more trouble than I am."

She still seemed confused. God, how could she be so bright and yet so thick?

"I'm not sure what you –"

"Ezra Powell. Remember him?" He tossed the vial of morphine at her. Cameron caught it awkwardly. "You gave him a little push into the next world."

Oh good! Finally, she understood.

Cameron walked over to his desk and set the vial down carefully. Now she was pale, her fingers trembled. "You wouldn't –" was all she managed before her voice cracked.

House glared up at her in contempt. "Cuddy thinks _I_ injected him, you idiot. I took a big hit for you. _Please_ remember that if the time comes _you decide_ that _maybe_ you owe me a favor."

Tears massed in her eyes and spilled over. Annoyed, House turned back to his soap. "You wanted to play with the big boys, Dr. Cameron. Guess what? We don't usually play nice. Now, get out and grow up."

She strode quickly towards the door, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

Honestly! One minute she was all super-confident, Xena - warrior/sex kitten, the next she was sniveling over a little mercy-killing.

House called after her, "And don't say anything stupid!"

That hadn't gone as all as he planned. He sighed and pocketed the morphine for later.

TRITTER

She canceled their plans for that night, leaving a brief and clipped message on his voice mail. 'Working late' – the oldest and most easily verifiable excuse in the book. He called Princeton Plainsboro. She wasn't there. He drove by her place. The light was on.

House must have said something to her. Threatened her job, manipulated her somehow. House almost certainly convinced her that he was only seeing her to get information.

Tritter had expected this. Hoped for it. He mulled over the next phase with gratification. He'd applied for, and gotten, a warrant to access House's bank records.

Tritter would play at being the forlorn lover. He would try to win Cameron back and wouldn't mind if he did. He liked her for many reasons. She's didn't understand the hold House had on her. How he was turning her into a bitter, uncompassionate version of himself. House wanted Cameron to be as cold and hard and nasty as himself.

Tritter sipped the blood-red merlot. No. He wasn't going to let that happen. For a little while he would let House think that he'd won, that he was safe.

Tritter realized he was actually enjoying this. The more House resisted, the sweeter humiliating him would be.

Yes.

Life was good.


	3. Chapter 3

**A Fair Cop**

**Chapter III**

By BV/Mrs H 

Officer Michael Tritter understood how women thought - more or less. Women wanted a man the same way they wanted a SUV. Big, strong, easy to steer, yet tough enough to protect them when a tree leapt out at them from nowhere.

Tritter also knew that even the toughest old bird was a sucker for romantic gestures. In short, they preferred to be lied to chivalrously and outrageously on a subconscious level.

While he waited for a report from a forensic account he'd send House's files to, he went into the clinic, faked a name on a form and requested

DR. CAMERON

Cameron skimmed the form. The nurse had written _Patient recently exp._ _Deep_ _chest pangs. Poss. early stages of cardiac distress. Requested: Dr. A. Cameron._

She opened the door, still reading the form, then glanced up. Shirtless, Michael Tritter leaned on the exam table looking somewhat sheepish.

"Cardiac distress?" She smiled in spite of herself.

"I'm no expert, Doc." Tritter idly fussed with a nicotine patch on his arm, "but since you stopped calling I'm pretty sure my heart is breaking."

She bent to inspect the patch with what she hoped was a cool professional air. "When did you start this?"

"A few days ago." Tritter held up his arm and she saw it was the strongest available over the counter. "I've been tempted to smoke again." He gazed at her, almost shyly. "I guess I've no other temptations to distract me.

She swallowed a lump in her throat. It didn't help that he looked at her in the same intense way a cat would stare at a goldfish. "Is the patch helping?"

"No."

His voice was a whisper. A question. A plea. She felt his muscled arm curl around her waist. He drew her closer and for a brief moment they kissed deeply. She leaned into him, overcome with a growing need she been denying for days. When the image of a morphine vial intruded, Cameron stiffened and stepped back.

Tritter's face registered confusion and pain. He nodded sadly, then turned, picked up his shirt and began to dress awkwardly.

"It's not you." Cameron blurted and immediately knew House would have declared that as saying something stupid. "I- I- uh - it's me."

What could she say? She didn't dare pursue this relationship any further, but she didn't dare tell him why.

Michael leaned on the table and his shouldered began to slowly heave. She took a few steps closer, astonished to see Tritter silently weeping.

"Oh – oh don't, Michael…"

TRITTER

She grasped at the usual clichéd phrases. "I'm sorry" and "It's hard to explain" and "please don't make this harder than it already is"

She seemed so guilty, so delightfully distressed. No. She wasn't like House. She obviously didn't like hurting people.

"Michael… please"

He took a deep breath. "Tell me what you want, Alison, and I'll do it without question." Tritter wiped at his eyes with the back of a hand. "If you want me to go, then I'll go, but just tell me why..."

"I just can't see you anymore." Cameron's lower lip began to tremble. She was obviously not accustomed to lying.

_Can't. _He noted_. Not won't. Interesting._

Michael slowly fell to his knees. "What have I done? Please - I just want to understand."

"I - She began to back away. "I … have to get back to work.

Tritter's red eye's burnedas he got up. His throat tightened as he whispered. "I just want you to know that meeting you and being with you – has been one of the best things that ever happened to me."

He left the exam room and walked out of the clinic half-blinded by tears.

Once he reached his car he carefully wiped away the smudges of diluted pepper spray he'd daubed near his eyes. Tritter figured it would take less than half a day for the gossip to reach House's ears. No doubt he would find it amusing.

HOUSE

House, in fact, found it very amusing and sighed in dreamy satisfaction.

"Stop looking so smug, you son of a -"

"Would you rather be under a license review?" House shot back at Cameron. He reached under his desk, brought out a plain brown bag and tossed it at her. "You can relax now. Go find a young, virile chewtoy into padded handcuffs and scratch whatever itch you have that Goldbond can't relieve."

The look she bestowed upon him was comprised of equal parts contempt, poison and unbridled fury. God, she was beautiful when she was angry! He absolutely lived for that look.

CAMERON

She sat on her sofa and toyed with the handcuffs. Why did House always assume it was all about him?

_Arrogant, manipulative pig._

When had he ever cried for _anyone_? Gone down on his knees for _anyone_?

"_Tell me what you want, Alison, and I'll do it without question."_

Tritter wasn't anything like House. No man would act like that unless his heart _was_ really breaking. Dammit, she'd been _happy_ for the first time in years.

…_meeting you and being with you – has been one of the best things that ever happened to me._

And he'd been everything she ever desired in a lover. The things he'd done to her. The raw passion he'd instilled. Her inhibitions had fallen away like veils from a dancer. How did those old songs from the thirties put it?

Oh yes. He _thrilled_ her.

She stared at the cuffs for a long, long time.

TRITTER

What sort of a man refused to be humbled? He ran House through the standard psychopath test and he scored fairly high, but not quite high enough.

House had been shot in the neck by a man not that long ago. A disgruntled spouse of a patient of his. Tritter raised an eyebrow in reluctant tribute. A near death encounter hadn't changed House. Tritter's efforts hadn't made much of a dent. Cameron's affair caused a ripple, but it was the only thing he'd done that had made any real impression on House so far. Such resolve! Only men with a great deal to lose had such resolve.

His phone rang. It was the accountant. "Tell me everything," Tritter leaned back into the sofa with his glass of merlot.

"You're gonna find this real interesting…" the accountant began.

He hung up nearly an hour later. _Yes,_ Tritter thought. _Very, very interesting indeed._

The doorbell rang. Tritter glanced out the window and hid a satisfied smile.

CAMERON

He opened the door. He made of point of looking surprised - and uncertain whether to be pleased.

"I'm an idiot." Her eyes met his steadily. "and I do want to keep seeing you."

He nodded and reached out a hand to her. He didn't ask why she changed her mind and she looked so _very_ grateful for that.

He did, however, ask what she was carrying in the plain brown bag.


	4. Chapter 4

A Fair Cop IV

By Bardvahalla '06

HOUSE

Dr. Greg House knew some things in life were inevitable. For example: he knew for a fact that one day he would go too far and Cuddy - or the board - would fire him. He knew that although he was brilliant he was also uniquely unemployable. He understood that when that time came he would need to be prepared. When that time came he would need two things. Money and Vicodin.

Most of his money was tied up in a blend of blue chip and foreign investments. He used every tax loophole imaginable to sock away his "retirement fund". Large chunks of it gathered interest in funds and a few numbered accounts. He was eventually destined for a warm, tax-free haven. All completely legal – although it might look odd to anyone who was not House. He had great plans for that money.

In the meantime, House liked his pleasures, and certain distractions didn't come cheap, so he supplemented his income with gambling. The cash he won was never declared on his taxes. And he played to win, and that was the reason he excluded Wilson from his poker games. It wouldn't be fair to keep fleecing a guy who kept putting his career on the line for him. The cash went to pay for those certain pleasurable distractions. The women. The bike.

It was also amusing to let people think he was a slave to his desires and frittered his salary away. If Wilson knew for a moment he had millions saved, invested and gathering interest… well, he'd never be able to hit him up for short term loans again.

And wasn't that was friends were for?

WILSON

Between loaning money to House, paying alimony, paying divorce lawyers, paying hotel bills, paying legal fees and paying medical insurance, there were days Wilson wondered why he even bothered to get out of bed. And then he remembered he was single handedly driving the US economy and it would be unpatriotic for him to stop.

CHASE

Of course, he had other sets. Of course, he was still into that sort of thing. Lately, it was the only thing. He'd have to stop skipping work to indulge himself though. He'd been docked pay over not being around to help with the fat guy.

Still. It had been worth it.

CUDDY

If House pulled just one more stupid stunt she would fire his bony butt. No wonder she couldn't get pregnant with all this stress. Then again – it might be the donor too. Three marriages and not one kid? Maybe she should try someone else. Someone like

HOUSE

Cameron didn't even try to hide the fact she was still seeing him. She obviously liked the rush, the danger. Her naughty little genie was out of the bottle and not going back in.

He tossed the tennis ball around during the differentials and made a few obvious digs at the appropriate moments. "Going to be all tied up this evening?" or "Copping a feel again?" or the morning she arrived an hour late. "Just how many speeding tickets are you trying to get out of?"

She just shrugged it off.

Dammit.

TRITTER

He decided he liked Cameron. Rather a lot. Maybe he'd just keep her. It was obvious that House's weak point was going to be his stash of money anyway. He just needed to understand how it was being used. What was House up to?

Tritter ripped off the nicotine patch and replaced it with a new one. Money and drugs. It always seemed to come down to that. He scrutinized his own weakness. Unlike House, he tried to beat his addictions. Tritter certainly didn't drink like he used to. The smoking proved the worst so far, but he would beat that too. No substance, legal or otherwise, was ever going to own him again.

His affair with Cameron was becoming dangerously serious, however. It had reached the point he actually arranged to introduce her to his brother's family.

CAMERON

They curled up under the blanket to break the biting wind. It was unseasonably cold today. She felt sorry for his nephew playing in this freezing wind and told him so.

"He's not cold when he's out there. Playing the game keeps him warm."

"I don't understand football." Cameron stuffed her frozen fingers in her pockets. Long underwear. She should have listened to him when he advised her to wear it.

Michael explained it to her. "Football is a game of war. Gaining territory. Right now Billy's team is on the offensive. They have four tries – called 'downs' – to gain ten yards. If they make ten yards then they get four down again to gain another ten yards. It's called 'marching up the field'.'

Cameron blinked. That actually made sense to her. By the end of the game, she understood how it all worked. It wasn't just a mess of men bumping into each other. His nephew's team won by a single point – gained by a tensely anticipated field kick. She jumped up and down, cheering with the rest.

After the game, back at his brother's House, they stayed for a BBQ. Billy and his teammates on the D line towered over Tritter. Cameron understood he played defense, pushing other guys out of the way to stop the quarterback from throwing the ball. "He's a good player because he's big," Michael joked as Billy picked him up and then set him down with a grunt. "It takes skill and training, but you can't teach size."

HOUSE

"What _do_ you see in the guy?" he asked her during a routine consult in the clinic. "It can't be the snappy uniform."

House's elderly patient was a regular, and she insisted that another doctor be present during her exam if that snippy Dr. House had to treat her.

"I bet I'm way better during sex than he is."

"Skill's overrated, House." Cameron made notes on the chart, then winked at the woman. "You can't teach size."

The old woman made a shocked but appreciative sound. "Oh, good burn, dear. I'm sharing that one with the bridge club."

House peered at his patient, annoyed. "I can prescribe a series of unnecessary enemas, you know."

The old woman pursed her lips for a moment and then declared. "Go ahead. It'll be worth it."

TRITTER

The vibrating cell woke him up. Tritter gazed a moment at Cameron's supine form, decided she was still in a deep sleep, and slipped out of the room to answer. He hoped the investigation had a break, that he'd tracked House's motives down. He needed the money shot to nail House to the wall.

CAMERON

His voice was muffled but he was obviously upset about something. She stirred, sat up a little and listened.

_no - he's got to be hiding something… want to know what. I have to nail this arrog … imp - … just keep look…let me know. I'll …. into some of the lawsuits he's … t least one suspicious death just a few mon… tic City death… unlikely transplant… let me know …_

Cameron heard him set the cell down and she settled back into the pillow. Obviously working on a case. He snuggled back in beside her and soon fell asleep again. Cameron nearly did too, but the snatches of his phone conversation kept playing in her head.

Her eyes flew open.

_I have to nail this arrogant gimp - … just keep looking - at least one suspicious death just a few months ago… then the Atlantic City death …_

Tritter was still investigating House.

And that meant…


	5. Chapter 5

A Fair Cop

Chapter V

By BV/Mrs. H

One thing Cameron had learned over the past year was that even if you really loved someone, it didn't mean they would love you back.

House didn't love her. Tritter didn't love her either.

She spent a long, miserable, rage-filled evening wondering _why_, until the realization hit her with a deceptively calm caress. A simple truth that released her from the burden of self-loathing It didn't matter _why_, because it had never been about her. Nor had it ever been about love - at least, not on their on their part. She stared at the padded cuffs, abandoned on her coffee table.

No. It was about _control_.

_Control. _

It was a game of territory and Cameron had become the football. Possessing it. Making the other guy chase you for it. But the point wasn't the _ball_. It was _winning_ the game.

"You wanted to play with the big boys, Dr. Cameron. Guess what? We don't usually play nice. Now, get out and grow up."

And she fled in tears, like a little girl. She picked up the cuffs. Then memory of Tritter snapping them on her wrists, securing her to the bedframe still thrilled her. But why?

Because she had always been a good girl in real life - at least until she had no other choice. Yet with with Tritter she chosen not to have that choice. Would she play that same game with House? The question bothered her.

No. She played such games with House differently. She tried to be bad to impress him. And failed.

By the wee hours of the morning, she decided she was done being their football. The game remained but the rules were going to change. These guys wanted war? She'd give them war, all right. What had her grandmother said? _"Lay down with dogs and you'll get up with fleas." _So true. She had lain with the dogs of war and now they had infested her.

First thing she needed to do was pick a battlefield.

CHASE

He stared at Alison Cameron in dismay. "You want me to what?"

"Just give me a name."

"You don't want this. Trust me."

"Yes, I do. Give me a name."

Chase gave her a name and a number. And some brotherly advice. But she only took the name and number.

CUDDY

"The cop's asking hard questions about Powell and Vegetative State Guy. I can't risk lying under oath and I'll always put the best interests of the hospital first." She tugged up the hotel sheets. This was the last attempt. If the test came back negative this time, she would try someone else. If things didn't go south and she was fired by the board. "House is going to drag us down with him."

Wilson yawned and sighed. "I know."

"If it gets bad – if it look like Tritter's going to be able to make a murder case, promise me something?"

"Sure."

"Save our asses," Cuddy pleaded. "Just this once - let House take his own medicine."

In the dark, she heard him laugh, but it was without humor. "His medicine is the root cause of all this."

"Promise me."

WILSON

She left a few hours later. Rarely had he ever heard her plead like that. Such begging, such desperate need was the stimulant he craved. She begged but he refused to promise. For the first time in a very long time he felt in control.

HOUSE

They meet in a greasy little Italian restaurant, facing each other in booths side by side and separated by a shoulder high partition. The guy's suit looked too expensive. He stood out but House noticed that the others made a point of not noticing him. Except for his capos.

"What's the guy's name?"

"Tritter."

Suit guy rubbed his freshly shaved jaw. "Oh yah. Narc, right. Gave us trouble a few years ago."

"So I can count on your support in this?"

"Sure. Boss says we owe a favor, see. So – waddya want? A permanent solution or just a message."

House considered. "Send a message first. See how it goes."

"Sure-sure. Does he like, have a wife or girlfriend? Sometime these sorts of messages are best passed on by a woman for maximum effectiveness."

"Leave her out of it. Just go through him."

"Sure-sure."

House got up. "Thanks."

TRITTER

This was not what he wanted to hear.

"Look, Michael, I'm sorry, but there's nothing illegal going on. The funds are all legit. His taxes are paid up. I can't find any serious fraud. You got nothing."

"I said, 'Keep looking', didn't I? So keep looking!" Tritter hung up.

He was back at square one. He didn't want to do this, but he would need Cameron to cooperate. He would need to loosen her up a bit. If that failed he might have to frighten her a little. He was done trying to do things by the book. He wanted House under his heel. He wanted House scared for his career, his sanity and his life.

The phone rang. Cameron. She wanted to take him out and buy him dinner. _How thoughtful._

HOUSE

His money was secure. Tritter had taken his stash of 600 Vicodin from his apartment, but not the backup stash he had at work. So. He had money and drugs if he needed to skip town.

Just a train to Florida. A boat to the Bahamas and for a few months he'd line up investors hand boom! His own private clinic where he could hire anyone he pleased. He would ship in Vicodin or morphine or whatever he needed to _his_ pharmacy as _he_ saw fit.

Wilson would likely need a job. The mob boys could get them both fake ID if required. And best of all, Wilson could finally stop paying all that alimony.

_Paradise._

The phone rang. Cameron. She wanted to talk to him privately about a serious matter. Obviously she was going to tip him off about something Tritter was up too. _How thoughtful._

She picked him up in her car. A cold, open coke sat snug in a drink holder. He picked it up, took a long pull and belched heartily.

"What's his plan, Mugsy?"

"That was _my_ drink."

"And your point is…?"

CAMERON

It took a bit longer than she expected for the mickey finn to knock House out. She reached over and pulled the tainted pop from his drifting hand. When his eyes closed, she secured his limp form securely with the seatbelt before she drove off.

Her burly assistant hefted House over his shoulder and lugged him inside. Once House was in position, Cameron paid him in cash. "Come back in three days. Same time."

"You're the boss." Burly guy nodded and left.

MOB GUY

Where the hell was Tritter? He called his boss. His boss called House. According to the boss, House was missing too. Cops were investigating both disappearances. Something was up.

TRITTER

When he woke up his wrists were stoutly chained. The drug made it hard to sit up, to get his bearings. He heard a low moan and turned toward it. House was crumpled on the floor next to him a few feet away. His wrists were also chained. When his vision cleared, Tritter noticed an empty chair. On it sat a bottle of Vicodin and a small square patch. His nicotine patch.

A small sign was attached to the chair.

It read: "The rules have changed."


	6. Chapter 6

A Fair Cop

Chapter VI

By BV/Mrs. H

Tritter watched as House stirred and blearily came round. It took a full ten minutes for House to manage to sit up, realize he was chained to a cement wall and grasp he wasn't alone.

House blinked at the sight of the him secured to the opposite wall. "The hell?" House croaked.

"Dr. House." Tritter nodded at him. "It seems we have a situation."

House listed to one side as he tested the strength of his chain. Tritter sighed in annoyance as House attempted what he'd already done. The bolts, chains and straps were rock solid. They weren't going anywhere. House repeatedly struggled to pull free until he crumpled back down to the floor. He rubbed his leg, wincing in pain. "I can't remember how I got here."

Tritter grunted. "The last thing I remember is Dr. –"

CAMERON

That first night, his leather riding gear shifted loosely around her thin frame. She practiced with his bike in an abandoned parking lot until she felt reasonably comfortable with it. Her long hair carefully secured under the helmet, she then rode the bike around the PPTH until she was certain "House" had been seen. Then she took out both Tritter's and House's cell phones. Records would reflect that House called Tritter and Tritter called back. Then nothing…

She made certain she had a rock solid alibi for those first two days. Working overtime in the clinic. Calling House's cell from his office _"Where the hell are you? Cuddy's furious."_ That second morning she left a message on Tritter's voice mail: _"Michael, please call me. We think something's happened to House. Page me at the hospital - call my cell. Love you…"_

She called Michael's work number on the afternoon of the second day. His supervisor told her he hadn't been in. She hesitated, then mentioned Dr. House was also missing. There was a long silence. "Alison, when did you last see Michael and Dr. House?"

"Michael and I went out to dinner two nights ago. Texan Ranger Steakhouse. House? I last saw him at work a couple of day ago. "

"Was either one acting … distracted or anything?"

Cameron sniffed dramatically. "Now that you mention it – "

CUDDY

Cops everywhere. House missing. Tritter missing. Cameron crying at the drop of a hat. She tried to send her home, but Cameron refused, doing double duty in the clinic and the rest of the time hanging around waiting, like the rest of them. For a call. For any news at all.

On the morning of the third day, she found Cameron sitting at House's desk, watching TV. The FBI investigation had hit the local news. _"…an investigation of Dr. House that the Officer tritter headed for the past few_ –" Cuddy's stomach clenched at the pictures of House and Tritter flashing on the screen. _"Investigators are interrogating organized crime members in connection with the disappearances." _

The situation had escalated so quickly. Last night, Cuddy answered hard questions from the FBI about Joey and Bill Arnello. About House. They showed her a grainy photo of House in a restaurant with some of Arnello's known captains. _That idiot!_ She told Wilson that House was fired - assuming he ever returned. He was probably in another country by now.

She leaned over, turned off the TV and turned to Cameron. "Go home." Cuddy ordered her. "I'll call as soon as I know anything."

Cameron rubbed her reddened eyes. "I won't be able to sleep. I might as well stay."

"I can't afford you working any more overtime." Cuddy half-joked and then rested a hand on the young doctor's shoulder. "Look, I'll give you something. Take it when you get home. Take a couple days off. Rest, dammit. Chase and Foreman can handle things for a day or so."

She was relieved when Cameron finally sagged and tearfully nodded.

WILSON

_That stupid bastard. _Cuddy was right. he'd have to save their own asses. He told the FBI the whole miserable truth. To hell with House. He had 3 ex-wives _and_ a baby to support.

HOUSE

Just within their grasp she'd left a carton of bottled water, large disposable diapers, a roll of toilet paper, small plastic grocery bags and a plastic sealable trash container. He peed into an empty water bottle, sealed it with the cap and chucked it in the trash can. He hadn't needed to use a diaper yet.

The chair with the patch and the bottle of pills resting on it remained _just_ out of reach. A mere six inches. She'd left a dozen pills in his pocket, but even with rationing he was running out fast. In Tritter's pockets she'd left 12 cigarettes and 12 wooden matches. The dickhead had smoked more that half already. The air stuck of smoke, sulfer, and faintly of urine.

At first they said nothing. This was just a game. A bad joke. She was teaching them a little lesson. Letting them work it out. Typical Cameron, dramatically and ham-handedly trying to "fix" them.

"What the hell did you do to her?" House finally snapped at Tritter. "She never turned into a psycho bitch under my watch."

"Me?" Tritter raised at eyebrow. "You're the one with all the influence, pal."

House sneered. "I never tied her up and played the Big Bad Police officer."

"No," Tritter countered, "You just eroded her basic decency and morals until she wanted to be tied up and forced to confess by someone stronger than _you_."

_Confess what? _House wondered.

TRITTER

He said nothing more. Silence was something House didn't like. _Let him sweat._ Tritter took a long pull off his dwindling cigarette and flicked the burning butt at House's face. It ricocheted off the wall near his stubbled cheek in a shower of orange sparks. House flinched. Tritter smiled. _Score one for me._

36 hours, 27 minutes according to his watch. Tritter wished House would fall asleep. He wanted to take a dump in some semblance of privacy. She hadn't proved food. Just water. He thought about their last meal. Steak. Wine. She'd eaten lightly. He briefly took a phone call outside. Then he returned, The wine tasted off. He felt tired by dessert.

"_You've been working late too many nights. Look, I'd drive you home. You better get some sleep for a change."_

He passed out in her car thinking she was so sweet to him. What a pity it would have to end soon.

There was no way she could have carried him. Someone would have helped her. House couldn't have done it. Not with his bum leg. _Who then?_

MOB GUY

The Feds were breathing down their necks. Questions. So many questions. Did House set them up? Was he dumping this mess on them? The boss sent down orders. _Find House. _According to the cops, he was last seen on his bike, screaming through the parking lot at the hospital.

He figured if he found Tritter he'd find House. And to find Tritter he's start with the girl. He followed her home from work. She stayed in all evening glued to her computer, then turned out the light by midnight.

Dammit.

The COP GUY

Cop guy watched Mob guy watching Cameron's place as the sun rose. This whole thing was just stupid. Why was the Mob watching Tritter's girlfriend? His cell chirped. He picked up. The FEDS found House's motorcycle at the airport. He watched someone come out of the apartment building as he spoke. _How much longer was he gonna waste his time here?_

Movement by the entrance. A lady with a large purse. Far too old. Not Dr. Cameron. She shuffled towards the bus stop. He glanced at Mob Guy.

CAMERON

She shuffled along the street with House's cane. The bus deposited her at the mall. She swapped the white wig for a short blonde one and changed clothes. _Time to check on the kids._

She wondered if they'd missed her. If they'd kissed and made up yet. _Bros before Hos_ and all that.

TRITTER

He wanted to see her. He wanted this even more than a cigarette. Just to see her, to hold her one more time – and then wring her pretty neck until it snapped in his hands.

HOUSE

_Pain. Pain. _Confess what??_ Pain. Pain. _Where the HELL is she? _Pain. Pain. Pain. Paaaaaaaaaaain. _He needed Vicodin now. NOW! _Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain._

Cameron where are you??

She was SO fired, he thought and glared at Tritter.

HOUSE/TRITTER

_This is all _your_ fault._


	7. Chapter 7

A Fair Cop

Chapter Seven

By Bardvahalla/Mrs H.

The key resisted at first, then turned easily. The faint stink of human waste emitted from the darkness. No food. Just water. Nothing to interfere with their desire for pills and smokes. She slipped into the hall, flicked one switch for the light and the other switch – the special one her accomplice told her about. The one that activated the cameras in the other room.

She opened the 'dungeon' door. On the ground, sweaty, twitching and obviously not pleased was

HOUSE

He glared at her as she pulled out a baggie with a dozen white pills, opened it and fished out two. She knelt placed them within reach. In agony he scrambled across the floor, grasped them with difficulty and stuffed them in his mouth. Finally!

"Sorry, I'm late." Cameron turned to Tritter and tossed him a cigarette and a match. "The Feds and Joey's boys both had a car outside my place."

"Joey??" To his credit Tritter didn't light the cigarette straight away. "Now why would the mob be watching you?"

Cameron gazed back at House. "Because House is an idiot."

Just the familiar bitter taster of Vicodin began to take the edge off his pain. He relaxed, took a breath. "Am not!"

"You hired the Mob?" Tritter finally lit the cigarette. "For little ol' me?"

Busted. Still, Tritter's enraged stare only amused him. "Hey,' he demurred, "it's not like I asked them to encase you in cement or anything." House rubbed his still throbbing leg. "You're the big bad cop with the entire police force behind you and your heavy-handed tactics. I needed a bit of an equalizer. So I just asked the guys to send a little message. Nothing more."

"I'm sure the FBI will love that story." Cameron commented drily.

House glanced at Cameron. "Don't play Miss High and Mighty with me." He pointed a finger at Tritter. "You didn't appreciate him nosing into your past to find your weak spot, did you? He's the one who kept escalating the situation." House motioned for another Vicodin as he sneered at Tritter. "Going to rehab wasn't enough, was it? You had to keep pushing, didn't you - "

TRITTER

"IT WILL NEVER BE ENOUGH!" The cigarette snapped in half, the burning end fell to the floor in a shower of embers. He was hungry. Craving. Angry. He resisted the urge to scramble down and save the butt.

"Oh, that's right." House snapped his fingers. "You told me you wanted to see me humiliated."

"Enough!" Cameron dangled the bag of Vicodin just out of House's reach. "It ends here and now for you both."

"What do you want, Alison?" Tritter growled.

"Apologies." Cameron fished out a pill and contemplated it. "First House apologies to you, then you apologise to House, then you both apologise to me. Then you get your pills and cigarettes and we all leave and never speak of this again."

"Why do I have to go first?" House bristled. "He started it."

Cameron rolled her eyes. "For God's sake, House! It's alphabetical by last name, okay?"

Tritter frowned. This was absolutely insane. Did she really believe that they would all say 'sorry' to each other, walk out of here and let this whole kidnapping thing drop? Was she naïve or just crazy? House certainly wasn't stupid, but surely Greg wanted out of here even more badly that he did.

"Does it have to be sincere?" House pouted.

"Yes, it has to be SINCERE!" Cameron screamed. "And all this has to stop. C'mon, House? The mob!? The MOB?? What the HELL were you thinking?"

"She has a point." Tritter immediately regretted opening his mouth as Cameron turned on him.

"AND YOU!" Cameron grasped a full waterbottle and flung it full force at his head. It ricocheted off the wall with a dull pang and bounced away. "What the hell was I to you, huh? That 'chance' meeting was a set up, wasn't it- you manipulative, lying arrogant PIG!"

Tritter held his tongue. He had spent nearly three days starved, bound and forced to endure House's company. He wanted nothing more than to reach out, have her emotionally collapse into his welcoming arms then to sweetly snap her spine in two. But that would have to wait. He needed to convince her to unlock the restraints first. He needed to play into her fantasies. He pushed her too far and she had snapped. He chose his next words carefully.

"You're right. I set you up." Tritter admitted. "I hoped that you being with me would hurt House or force him to make a mistake. Then I felt differently. I wanted you to see he didn't love you, that he never would and that he was corrupting you…"

Her eyes had become glassy with tears. He almost had her.

"His influence nearly destroyed the best part of you, Alison – please don't let him do that." Tritter begged.

Her shining eyes turned to House, but Greg didn't look at her. His eyes were fixed firmly on the bag of pills. Tritter nearly smiled. God, House was such a fool, and she was so damn needy. They were both idiots.

"He will never love you as much as his Vicodin, Alison." Tritter held his breath. Please let her fall for it…please… "Don't become as heartless as he's because too stupid to love you."

House remained silent as Cameron carefully selected two tablets from the bag. She held them out to House. "Choose," whispered –

CAMERON

House finally looked at her. Sky blue eyes that understood her far too well. That had always known her better than she had ever grasped her own nature. It was why he hired her. He'd known. Somehow he's seen past all the walls she carefully constructed and pulled them down one by one. A smile twitched at his mouth. His hand reached out and plucked the pills from her palm. His fingers hesitated, then pushed the pills past his lips. House closed his eyes in defiance.

Cameron sighed, kicked the fallen waterbottle towards him and commented. "It was ever thus."

House opened the bottle and took a pull. "I know I need rehab, Cameron, but you need a nice long trip to the psyche ward."

"Why is that?" Cameron turned, pulled the sign off the chair and sat down.

"Because you must be out of your mind if you think I'm going to apologize to that piece of – uhnnngh!" House doubled over and writhed on the floor.

"I know." Cameron crossed her legs and contemplated her nails. "That's why I didn't give you Vicodin, but something to put you out of your misery." From the corner of her eye, she saw Tritter stand.

"Tell me Michael, is his humiliation enough for you?"

House twisted and whimpered. "What h-have you d-done?"

"Mu dear doctor House, what haven't I done?" Cameron brushed imaginary lint from her trousers. "All those months I answered your emails. Remember that? Do you have any idea how simple it was to find out the passwords to your bank accounts? You trusted me too much."

Tritter stopped staring at House twitch and turned to her. "His numbered accounts?"

Cameron bestowed a sly smile on him. "Every last cent has been cashed in and transferred to a numbered account of my own and now I'm leaving on a jet plane…"

"Noo -- oo…" House struggled to breathe. "N- not you…not you…"

Cameron didn't even spare him a glance. She gazed up at Tritter, sudden desperate need in her eyes. "Is this humiliating enough for you, Michael? Didn't I give you what you wanted? House on the floor – ruined –his arrogance crushed out of him like a squashed bug?"

Tritter watched House give a final twitch and lie still. Is this what he wanted? He stood in silence, then smailed at Cameron and gave her a nod of understanding. She had done this for love of him - to gain his approval and his trust.

"Yes."

Cameron stood and pulled a cigarette from a pack in her pocket. She lit a match, filling the air with a sharp sulfurous tang. She stuck the cigarette in her mouth, held the match up and lit it. She blew a cloud of smoke down towards House then held out the smoldering cigarette to –

TRITTER

He took the smoke and inhaled deeply. The familiar tightness in his lungs relaxed as he feel the first buzzrush of nicotine surge through him. Cameron pulled a tiny key from her back pocket and held it up. "You have a choice to make too, Michael."

Tritter took another deep pull of the cigarette. "Oh yeah? How's that."

"I can leave now. Abandon you here and let the owner of this delightful playroom release you in a few hours or…"

Tritter arched an eyebrow. "Or?"

"You can promise to meet up with me in South America. Help me spent House's money."

"And ruin my career?"

Cameron folded her arms over her chest. "Cut the crap, Michael. Since the FBI took over this case, they've come to the same conclusion everyone else in your precinct did ages ago. The only difference is the Feds put into official reports what all your cop buddies kept to themselves. You became obsessed with ruining House." She laughed lightly. "Go ahead. Go back and play the victim, but you'll never live it down. Your career as a cop is over, so think carefully about what you want."

Tritter wanted his fingers to squeeze the corruption from her smiling face and replace it with true fear - but he willed himself to wait.

"You make a persuasive argument," he admitted and took a final deep pull of the cigarette. "But I'm a fair cop, Alison. This isn't an easy choice for me."

"Think of all the fun we've have…" Cameron licked her lips. "Don't disappoint me, Michael."

"It would be fun, wouldn't it?" Michael smiled. Yes. He would go with her to another country, attend to her desires, gain her trust, kill her at his leisure, take the money and spend the rest of his life in the sun remembering House writhing in humiliation - dying, his money and dreams stolen by the one moral person House delighted in ruin-

Why is it so hard to breathe?

His eyes flew open. He dropped the poisoned cigarette and gave a last wild look at

CAMERON

Timing, Cameron understood, was everything. The Dungeon's landlord was due to return in a few hours. She had to fetch the bag she stashed in an airport locker, get through security, on the plane and at her destination before he returned for the key. This man who specialized in the rental of locations for sexual fantasies. He would alert the police, who would search the premises and find the DVD recordings of their deaths. Then they would search her apartment and find House's motorcycle leathers. By the time they put it all together she'd be walking out of a private clinic, nipped and tucked beyond recognition.

Life was good.

CUDDY

The calls came in from the ER. Tritter and House had been found. Two ambulances were on the way. One pulled up and gave a signal. No rush. DOA. The others raced past Cuddy before she could get a good look at the man in the gurney. She ran to the DOA and pulled back the sheet to reveal a stubbled male face...

To be continued…


	8. Chapter 8

A Fair Cop

Chapter Eight

By Bardvahalla/Mrs H.

In the end, Cuddy realized, it was Stacy who saved their asses.

Foreman issued his official assessment; Wilson went into a long and deep depression - blaming himself for what happened to House.

Once the case hit the papers, the legal implications alone were staggering. Cuddy made frantic calls to Stacy, sent her a copy of the "Death Tape Confessions" as the press dubbed them, and used every bit of influence with the board to keep her position. Twice she went into false labor. Once she nearly lost the baby. It was the thought of the baby that kept Wilson from completely disintegrating.

Months later, when her blue-eyed boy was born pink and healthy, Cuddy named him Robert Gregory. She noticed that Wilson quietly wondered about the color of the child's eyes, but said nothing. She restrained herself from saying 'Many babies are born with blue eyes.' Cuddy knew Wilson knew that. She also knew Wilson might discreetly arrange a paternity test. She confirmed the paternity herself. Eventually, he would ask and she would tell him.

A few weeks after she took maternity leave, Cuddy threw a small "retirement" party. Stacy arrived, without Mark, and handed Cuddy a thick envelope of legal briefs. Cuddy handed the baby off to Wilson and took Stacy into the kitchen. She extracted a cork from a large bottle, poured and handed Stacy a glass. "Well – how bad is it?"

Stacy shrugged and sipped at the Shiraz. "It could be a lot worse. The Board has extended your paid maternity leave until next year. Then your buyout will take effect. The Board promised you glowing references in writing."

"And Wilson?"

"Wilson's off the board, but he's not fired."

Cuddy exhaled, only slightly relieved. "House?"

"Foreman presented his findings. The board wrote him off." Stacy drained her glass. "but they agreed to back his insurance claim for long-term disability due to brain damage. He'll continue to receive half his pay and full medical benefits unless his mental condition improves significantly or he finds full-time employment elsewhere."

"That'd be tough even if he wasn't brain-damaged." Cuddy snorted humorlessly. "Foreman hoped his perception problems would only be a short term-"

Stacy thumped her glass sharply on the table, snapping the stem in half. "I should have let him die. It would have been better then seeing him come to this."

Cuddy gingerly grasped the bits of the broken wine glass and set them carefully out of harm's way. "At least he's not in jail. He's got you to thank for that."

Lisa Cuddy marveled at the skillful ease Stacy used Tritter's confessions on the death tapes to prove the cop had illegally and deliberately set out to manipulate Cameron in his vendetta against House. It had taken months of back room legal wrangling, but in the end, the charges against House were dropped in exchange for the hospital's agreement not to sue the police for Tritter's harassment. Tritter had become an enormous PR liability the force would just as soon forget.

"It was Eric who testified so brilliantly." Stacy shook her head. "It's not me Greg should thank. It's – "

FOREMAN

Foreman set down the card Cuddy had received from Chase. It didn't surprise Eric that young Aussie hadn't come. Chase had lost no time in finding a new and better paying position as far away as he could manage. The FBI had grilled him pretty hard about Cameron's extra curricular activities. Chase admitted to giving her the name of the man with the dungeon. He confirmed her relationship with Tritter was of a manipulative sort. The FBI's search for Dr. Cameron first lead to Brazil, and then to Switzerland where she withdrew enormous amounts of cash. Her discarded ID and her slashed and bloodied clothing was found in an alley in Paris. No body ever turned up. The case grew cold. Colleagues were to alert the FBI if Cameron ever contacted them, which, of course, she never did.

Foreman wondered about her. More often than he cared to admit. He couldn't quite bring himself to believe she was dead. He wanted to hate her for what she'd done to House, but he couldn't quite do that either. He's seen those tapes, how expertly she'd been duped by two men who lived to manipulate emotions to their own liking. On a certain level, Eric was proud of her for fighting back.Of course, that was a completely different matter for -

HOUSE

Wilson tried to hand him the blue-eyed infant but House stiffened and shook his head. He offered a weak smile. "I'd only d-drop him." House rubbed at his throbbing leg and made a little whimpering sound.

"Are you still going to try that clinic?" Wilson took a seat across from House and nestled baby Robert in the crook of his arm. Tiny bubbles emitted from his pink bow of a mouth. So helpless. So perfect. So his.

"What else have I got to l-lose? My practice? My …." House's eye's glazed over and it appeared that House almost dozed for a moment. House had these mild episodes whenever he became agitated. Wilson nudged House's leg gently with his foot. "House?"

"Motoricicle?" House blinked. H looked around, confused, then gradually became more alert, stretched out his leg and massaged it with more force. "If there's any chance they can undo the d-damage I want to give it a shot. There's nothing left I legally can t-try in the States. Besides, F-Foreman w-won't trust me with anything more c-complicated than a c-can opener."

Wilson had already tried pleading to no avail. This treatment was too much of a risk. Once more he offered to accompany him. House refused. Wilson sighed. "Just promise me you won't let desperation color your judgment. It could all be hi-tech snake oil."

"Listen to Wilson, House. Please." Foreman walked over. "There's no clinical evidence this guy can properly verify by an independent and reputable source. It's all anecdotal. Their testimonials are just too damn flaky,"

"I've become accustomed to d-disappointment." House shook a Vicodin from a bottle, fumbled and dropped it. Foreman leaned over, picked it up and handed it bank to him. House looked away embarrassed. "I want my leg b-back, but that won't h-happen either. I can cope with the l-leg but I can't and won't deal with an flawed m-m-mind."

"House, you've made such progress in the past year – "

"Not enough!" House carefully put the tablet in his mouth. "His theories seem s-sound enough. So I'm going and I'm t-trying this." Even if it k-kills me."

_Especially if it kills you, _Foreman thought.

Stacy meandered over and cooed at the baby. Foreman looked at her, the unspoken question on his and everyone else's lips. Was there any news? Any word at all of -

CAMERON

The sunhat cast a dappled shadow over her features. They had altered her eyes, her lips, the nose. The breasts were fuller, the hair a subdued strawberry blonde. Her fingerprints had been carefully burned off with acid. She cultivated a trace of an Aussie accent. Not homage to Chase but because that was where her new passport listed her origin.

The papers had been full of her photos those first weeks. Then months passed and the case had been pushed to the back pages, then forgotten by a media that constantly hungered for fresh scandals. The case was still open. It would always be open. Dr. Alison Cameron would always be hunted, vilified and loathed. The idea bothered her far less than she expected it might. After years of constantly seeking approval with less than satisfactory results, it made for a rather refreshing change. Her tongue darted out and licked the salt off the rim of her margarita.

She could not believe a year had nearly passed. The time had just flown. She thought of her months of careful planning. Scouting out locations. The hard work of establishing a convincing persona and making it fit like a second skin. She wasn't a needy little girl anymore. House had made certain of that.

As they so often did, her thoughts turned to Dr. Gregory -

HOUSE

Of course, the miracle treatment was all lies and snake oil. Anything too good to be true always was. A few days after he arrived in the tropics, he phoned collect from a payphone to tell Wislon so.

"You're coming home soon then?" Wilson prompted.

House flipped a Vicodin with practiced ease into his mouth. "No."

"House, we'll find a cure. I know Foreman hasn't been able to pinpoint the exact problem, but he -"

"There is only one cure left." House clenched the phone receiver so hard his hand began to ache. "Look. I hate long g-goodbyes. You and Cuddy are going to be great p-parents. Way b-better than m-mine. Take care of that k-kid."

"House?"

"And tell Stacy… I loved her."

"HOUSE!"

He hung up, took a breath and limped to his rented car. Legally he wasn't allowed to drive, but his old license hasn't been questioned. He drove it to a stretch of road he had scoped out earlier. He followed signs to a dirt road that led to a short footpath, which in turn led to a deep escarpment. The thundering waterfall overshadowed all other sound. He peered down into the raging mist that hid the jagged rocks below. He pulled the bottle of Vicodin from his pocket. It was still half full. Wilson had been generous before he'd left on the plane. It would be enough.

WILSON

The local police found abandoned car. They found House's wallet, a short note with a number of whom to contact in case of an emergency, the empty Vicodin bottle and the cane. They found a torn shirt and a battered sneaker downriver - but no body. Not that was any surprise, the local cops told him. That whole river region was populated with crocodiles.

After House's memorial, Wilson gazed at the blue eyed child he knew wasn't his. It no longer mattered. The child needed him. Cuddy needed him. In the end, that what he needed too.

Next: Epilogue and Bonus material


	9. Chapter 9

A Fair Cop

EPILOGUE & Authors Notes

By Bardvahalla 2006

Heaven had a tiny lizard clinging to the ceiling.

At first it sat perfectly still. The man lying in the bed thought perhaps instead of the proverbial fly on the wall, the lizard on the ceiling watched them with curious and judgmental eyes. In the distance the sound of ocean surf pounded rhythmically. A contented moan emitted from the sleeping woman beside him. Waves of blonde hair curled softly on the pillow. He reached out and twisted a golden lock of it around his finger. She looked over, opened her sleepy eyes and smiled at him. "You look awful."

He knew he looked worse that awful, and fingered the bandage on his nose gingerly. His eyes had black bruises under them, giving a hangdog appearance. The swelling would take a further week to disappear, then they could leave the hotel room. Not that he was in any rush to do that. "You should see the other guy." He leaned over and kissed the salt from her lips.

_She had arrived right on time. The bike was a beauty. A black Yamaha V Star with a new cane strapped to it. He was impressed, and told her so. He flung his old sneakers into the waterfall's abyss and carefully limped over to the bike. It wouldn't have done to leave any obvious tracks at that stage of the game._

_He pulled on the new shoes he'd asked her for. "Let me drive."_

"_Mmmm. Not just yet." _

_She pulled him into a long lingering kiss, smelling of wind and something salty-sweet. A long time passed before he released her. He decided he liked the new look. It seemed softer yet with a hint of street cred. He had straddled the bike and felt her snuggle in behind him. The engine purred deliciously, like a kitten on crack._

"_You haven't driven a bike in almost a year, House," she reminded him._

_House had grinned recklessly. "Trust me. I'm a doctor."_

_Cameron then handed him the spare helmet and wrapped her arms around his waist. He gunned the motor and sped off. The tropical wind whipped through his grin of sheer, unadulterated delight at their hard won success. One night spent in Cameron's car convincing her that Tritter would not rest until they were both behind bars for murder. Three days of intense planning. Three more of confinement. Long, boring months of careful waiting for the investigation to wind down while faking brain damage._

_All of it absolutely worth it to see that look of complete shock and humiliation on Tritter's face. The moment Tritter realized they'd beaten him. It was a sweet perfect victory - the best gamble he'd ever taken, the finest rush he'd ever felt in his life._

_Now… a new life in a new country where there were far fewer restrictions on piddling little things like prescriptions for Vicodin. Here cops could be bought and sold. Here they could start a clinic for the very wealthy and very stupid. He could pursue his many passions at will. Here they could dictate their fates, make their own rules - and they would. Cameron could play with the big boys now. She didn't need the crutch of cuffs anymore. She accepted her passions and made them an unapologetic part of herself. She'd graduated from the likes of Michael Tritter to mobsters and murderers. Wilson hadn't the stomach for a retirement like this. _

Asleep again, Cameron nestled against his chest. Her breath came in even waves, like the surf. House signed in contentment, amused at the thought of how impressed Cuddy would be if she ever learned just how damn far he'd gone to avoid clinic hours.

The lizard then crawled slowly across the ceiling towards the window. House observed it closely and imagined how the world must look from that perspective.

FIN

Author's notes:

Did you really think for one moment I wouldn't have a happy ending, this close to Christmas??

Please. I'm not THAT heartless.

Of course, if you preferred the angst ridden suicide! House and Shetookallhismoneyandlefthimfordeadthatbitch!Cam you can tell yourself that the epilogue was all a sweet delusion that House experienced in his last few seconds of life just before his brain shut down. Whatever floats your boat.

For the happy ending people here are my notes . I suppose the biggest question on your minds is WTF!!! When did Cam and House plan all this??

In chapter five, when they were in the car. Read the notes then reread the story. The clues were there…

HOW IT ALL REALLY WENT DOWN:

Cameron asks Tritter to dinner but they don't actually meet until three days later.

At that point, she had completely lost it and fully intended to lure both House and Tritter to the dungeon and A. turn the tables on them to B. Scare the hell out of them and C. yanno, make them pay for manipulating her etc. etc. and to hell with the consequences. She meets with House that first night, to inform House that Tritter's investigation is focusing on murder now.

House takes a drink of Cam's pop in the car and reasons that if Tritter is trying to work up a murder charge based on the deaths for Ezra Powell, whom Cam killed, and Vegetative State Guy, whom House convinced to commit suicide, then they are both totally screwed. Even if the charges don't stick their careers will be in the crapper.

House confesses his meeting with the mob and that he'd asked them to send Tritter a 'message'. House offers to take the fall for Powell's murder and tries to convince Cam play dumb. Rather than have House take the blame for the murder of Ezra Powell, Cam offers to confess, but House refuses to let her do that on the grounds it would only make Tritter more determined to hold House accountable for her actions and they would BOTH still be unemployable pariahs.

House then jokingly suggests that they would have to bump Tritter off and flee, but that would mean a life on the run. Cam, who was pretty darn close to doing just that anyway, is agreeable to leaving _with_ House but suggests they do it in such a way that Tritter's manipulative methods are exposed and the resulting investigation distracts investigators from Powell's and VSGuy's death. She tells House about the SMBD dungeon/cameras she's booked. House – seeing the potential of this - agrees to let her take the blame for the murder on the condition she leaves with his money and establishes a safe haven for them both. Cameron isn't totally stupid. She willingly takes the murder rap because House trusts her with every cent he's saved. It's her collateral.

The details worked out, Cam meets Tritter for dinner a few days later and hauls him to the dungeon with the help of the well-bribed landlord who thinks this is some ménage-a-trois' S&M fantasy. House gets into Cam's car later that same night, drinks the Mickey Finned pop, passes out and the games begin. (So - Scene wise - I just skipped the three day planning period scene from when House drank her pop in her car to the moment days later he willingly drank the drugged pop in the same car. It was a literary slight of hand that made it appear that she drugged him right away. Hey. I'm evil. Sue me. ANYWAY…)

While House and Tritter are waking up, Cam leaves her fingerprints all over House's bike, dumps his bike leathers in her closet, leaves both their cellphones in her bedside table for the cops to find and starts moving House's money around with the passwords he's given her.

Still with me?? Good.

The three days in the Dungeon were designed to make Michael confess his crimes on hidden camera. After being starved and messed with, he would firmly believe Cameron was nutty than a fruitcake and that she really killed House out of love for him. (Her rage at them both wasn't an act.)That Michael implicates himself on camera in wanting to flee to South America with House's stolen savings is a bonus. Cameron lighted the poisoned cigarette herself, but was very careful not to inhale. That's why Tritter didn't question the integrity of the cigarette.

House doesn't die – prompting the inevitable 'Cameron never could get dosages straight' jokes by Chase and Foreman, who are clueless that the poisoning was deliberately meant to fail. Later, House comes to and fakes having brain damage well enough to fool Foreman, who declares him too messed up to continue his practice. House then play the victim for until it's safe to contact Cameron.

Tritter's confession tapes are tried in the media while his actions are investigated by the FBI. (Kidnapping are ALWAYS handled by the Feds) It is obvious Tritter was way out of line, and his colleagues were covering up his worst excesses. Stacy argues House's request to send a "message" via the mob was as the action of a desperate man who could not seek proper recourse through the police. Sensing lawsuits and a PR nightmare the cops drop the charges and settle out of court, although the FBI still seek Cameron for the murder of Michael Tritter. Cameron fakes the attack on her in Paris – a place where traveling women often disappear sold into the sex trade, then heads to the topics to hook up with House and establish their new identities.

House leaves the country to seek a miracle treatment he knows is a load of crap, but really is a cover to hook up with Cameron. He fakes suicide, is reunited with his partner in crime, and now - armed with new ID and a new face courtesy of his mob connections/secondary investors in his private clinic for gullible patients willing to pay top dollar his unique medical insight.

Officially, the murder case is still open, but privately the authorities believe both Cam and House are both dead and, in light of Tritter's confession, they are not going out of their way to seek Drs. Cameron or House.

Did I forget anything?

Oh yeah.

_They lived happily ever after._

Unless, of course, they didn't.

;-)


End file.
